


The Ravensthorpe Hotel

by Jenn_Harper



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types, Historical RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bar/Pub, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Australian Slang, Bars and Pubs, Bartenders, Falling In Love, Love, M/M, Non-Explicit Sex, Romance, Small Towns, Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-14 14:06:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28546836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jenn_Harper/pseuds/Jenn_Harper
Summary: Eivor lives in Ravensthorpe, a small town in country Western Australia. When Ragnar, the owner of The Ravensthorpe Hotel, dies, he leaves the pub to two of his sons, who move to town to run the business for themselves, and discover what living in a small country town in the middle of nowhere is really like...I have never written modern AU before, so this was a surprise to me even as I wrote it... so... excuse me while I write purely for the fun of it :) and yes... I do realise just how niche this is!But... oh well!If I use any slang that needs explaining, please just let me know and I will happily explain!Enjoy! Jenn/Harper
Relationships: Eivor (Assassin's Creed)/Ubba (fl. 860s)
Comments: 21
Kudos: 49





	1. The New Owners

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always a thousand thanks to Myriath for your help, patience and cheerleading. You’re a dead-set legend, as we say in this part of the world ❤

It was a Friday night in early summer when Eivor stood outside the The Ravensthorpe Hotel - a pub mostly, though with a few hangdog rooms for rent to dignify the name – and heard the roar of voices inside. A busy night, he thought. No surprises there.  
The pub was the kind of place you could see in any backwater town anywhere in Western Australia. It was double storey with a wrap-around balcony on the first floor providing a veranda to the ground floor; a paint job in green and white, faded and peeling from years of intense sun; and a rundown air about it that felt vaguely comforting to the rough miners and other loose-ended people who lived in town and who regularly stopped for beers at the bar. Built on goldrush money a hundred years earlier, when the country had been filled with people and optimism, the pub still retained some glimmer of what it had once been, with its grand high ceilings of pressed tin and elaborately carved stairways leading to the upstairs rooms for let, where only bar flies and alcoholics now had the temerity to set foot.  
It had once been something; it was now something else entirely, Eivor thought with a twist of his mouth.  
He had lived in Ravensthorpe for half a dozen years, having come to work at the mine, and having stayed out of misguided loyalty to some idea he’d had of making a fresh start. The fresh start had proven to be about as fresh as the Hotel’s decor.  
He pushed open the glass door, and was assailed with the usual smells of the pub – beer, primarily, but also men who had failed to wash and the perfume of the women who bathed in the stuff. It was not normally so busy, but the town was curious; and when a small country town gets curious, it isn’t shy.  
The pub had changed hands. It had been owned and run by a man who called himself Ragnar for many years. Ragnar had been tall, overweight, dressed in all weathers in stubby shorts, a singlet, and thongs; he was exactly what a man in his fifties out there in the country was supposed to be. He’d been admired in some ways. He’d been a member of the town council, where he had been treated as the bluff, good-natured old bugger that he was. Outside that role, he knew everyone from working at the pub, and liked nothing better than to share a joke with anyone he met, even if his jokes had inevitably been in bad taste, and his laughter a little louder than the joke warranted. He’d been a workhorse too, always behind the bar, if he wasn’t helping to prop it up.  
He’d died in his private rooms, and had been found one Sunday morning by one of the barmaids. It caused quite a stir in town, as any death did – but this one perhaps more than most, because who would inherit the pub was unknown, and people weren’t keen to lose their access to cold beer and bad jukebox music on Saturday nights – and they had all liked Ragnar, they added hastily; even if his jokes were on the nose and he laughed too loudly at them – and perhaps had got a little handsy with a woman here and there who didn’t appreciate it. That was only to be expected of any pub owner, everyone knew that.  
The funeral was held in the Catholic church, organised by the same barmaid who’d found him; his family had been sent for, but had sent back directions which she had followed; though as Eivor had overheard the town alcoholic, Bruce, say over the counter at the general store the day before the funeral, ‘You could blow me down if Ragnar was a Catholic. He sure as shit never went to church.’ Mavis, the shopkeeper, wrinkled her nose at his language, but even she admitted he wasn’t wrong.  
The word around town was that the pub had been left to two of his sons. That caused a lot of talk, the sons being an unknown quantity. Everyone had heard Ragnar talk about how many sons he had, to the point where no one could be too sure how many there actually were - though they were certainly not all legitimate, if he was to be believed. Most of them, he said, had run to no good in the city – there was talk of biker gangs and nightclub brawls; certainly, the people of Ravensthorpe had never seen any of these alleged sons in all the years Ragnar had been in town.  
‘Eivor!’ He heard the call across the roar of voices, and standing on his toes, he spotted his best friends, Sigurd, who had shouted and was at least tall enough to spot in a crowd, and his partner, Randvi. The two of them had been in an on again, off again relationship for years, and Eivor had been exasperated many times by them both - he sometimes wished arranged marriages were a thing because waiting for them to realise they belonged together was excruciating. They were together again now; he hoped it would last.  
He pushed his way through the crowd, over towards where they stood near the jukebox - too near - which was playing typically terrible music from forty years earlier – which went with the décor at least. Eivor shook his head, thinking that anyone would be forgiven for thinking they’d slipped through a tear in the space time continuum when they walked into the place.  
‘Have you seen them?’ Randvi shouted to be heard, meaning the new owners of course, her eyes sparkling with enjoyment at Sigurd’s scowl. Eivor could have rolled his eyes at his jealousy, but instead he shook his head. He indicated by miming that he was going to get a drink, and did they want one. They both nodded yes, and so he began to work his way through the scrimmage.  
Eivor finally reached the bar, where he had inadvertently come up alongside Bruce. He looked at Eivor myopically, then the frown cleared and he slurred, ‘Eivor! It’s been a long time.’ He slapped an overly friendly arm around his shoulders, pulling him in closer than Eivor liked. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve come to see our new barmaids, too?’  
‘Hey Bruce,’ he said, shaking off his arm with a grin. ‘Would I do that?’  
Bruce chuckled and said, ‘You’ll be disappointed, boy.’  
Eivor looked where he gestured, and saw what he meant. Serving at the bar was a short, thin, dramatically scarred man, with his hair shaved on one side, long on the other. He wore a black T-shirt, ripped down one side, and jeans that hung loosely on his hips. He was, without a doubt, the one called Ivarr. Eivor had listened to long tales of this son. Ragnar had seemed to be equally proud of and appalled by his career. He’d been in a motorbike gang for years, but left after getting himself into a knife fight and nearly died. He’d been on life support, nearly lost his eye – Ragnar had complained endlessly about the medical expenses, but Eivor could tell he secretly loved to tell that story. He could see no similarities between Ragnar and this son to look at though. He must look like his mother.  
He turned to Bruce with a chuckle, and nudged him teasingly. ‘You might have a chance with that one.’  
Brucie laughed loudly, and said, ‘I was going to leave that one for you.’  
Eivor turned back to the bar grinning, and tried to get Ivarr’s attention. He was clearly not interested in serving with anything like efficiency though. He took his sweet time, looking at the impatient person he was serving, eyebrow arched, deliberately taking longer than he might have in pouring the drink... adding the garnish... placing it on the counter...  
‘What can I get you?’ He hadn’t noticed the second bartender at all, too mesmerised by the negligence of Ivarr and the irritation of those he was serving. He looked up – really up – into green eyes which were assessing him, with indifference at first but then something sparked in them as their eyes clashed. A smile tilted up one corner of his mouth, and he repeated, ‘What can I get you?’  
Eivor realised he was staring. He flushed, and said, ‘Two pints of tap, and a vodka lemonade, thanks.’  
The bartender nodded, and took two pint glasses and a tumbler from the fridge beneath the bar. He, unlike Ivarr, was quick, deftly filling the pints, then adding the shot of vodka to the tumbler and filling it with premix. Eivor found himself watching him closely; the way his large hands managed to be so nimble despite their size, the way the muscles of his arms – and they were muscular – flexed as he reached for whatever he needed. He was wearing nothing special, a T-shirt and jeans, like his brother, but he was impressive. A big man, no doubting it.  
He placed the glasses on the bar mat, and took the money that Eivor held out for him as their eyes clashed again. Their fingers touched briefly, and Eivor felt something in his stomach flutter. That big easy smile again, the change dropped into his hand, and then he turned to the next customer.  
Eivor pressed the three glasses together in his hands, cast one last lingering look at the big bartender, then turned to take the drinks to his friends.

‘What do you think?’ Randvi shouted in his ear, once they all had their drinks and had taken a mouthful.  
He shrugged, squashing the butterflies as best he could. ‘The little one looks rough as guts,’ he shouted back.  
‘I like the look of the tall one,’ she said, deliberately loud enough that Sigurd could hear her, but winking slyly at Eivor.  
Sigurd scowled, and said, ‘I’m going out to the beer garden.’  
Eivor said, ‘We’ll follow. It’s too loud in here.’

The beer garden was a grandiose name for what was effectively three bench tables with built in bench seats in a sad corner of the parking lot beneath a salmon gum that was in the middle of shedding its bark. Even the carpark itself was just a vacant lot of land that had been gravelled over, and every time a car pulled in or out, dust was kicked up into everyone’s faces. There was a skill to be learnt in covering your glass in time – or alternatively, in accepting a certain amount of grit with your beer.  
It was a warm night, and because of how busy it was inside, there were at least a dozen people out there, mostly the smokers.  
Sigurd stalked away from them, and began talking with someone he knew, eyeing Randvi angrily from a distance as he did so.  
Eivor said, ‘You shouldn’t goad him like that.’  
She snorted. ‘You have to treat ‘em mean to keep ‘em keen.’  
He grimaced. ‘I don’t think Sigurd’s like that, though. I think he just wants to be with you.’  
The sound of the door into the pub being flung open interrupted this conversation, and they looked over in time to see what would no doubt be the talk of the town in the morning. A young kid called Chris – the ‘little thieving shit’ as he was generally known in town - was being manhandled out of the door by the tall bartender.  
‘Next time I’ll call the cops,’ he said, shoving Chris away towards the carpark. The threat about the cops was probably unnecessary. He could have snapped Chris in two with one hand.  
Chris whined, ‘Ragnar wasn’t such an uptight arsehole.’  
The tall bartender waved an arm telling him to bugger off, then looked over the beer garden to see if he needed to come and collect empties yet, and in the process, his eyes met Eivor’s again. The look lingered a moment, that hint of a smile, the thundering of butterflies in Eivor’s stomach and then he had ducked back inside.  
Randvi nudged him, ‘I think you’ve caught someone’s eye.’  
Eivor grinned at her. ‘I don’t think so.’ But he kind of knew anyway. The butterflies wouldn’t let him pretend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s note:  
> The town of Ravensthorpe in Western Australia exists. It is not exactly as I have described it here. This is meant only as a caricature of this kind of town. [On the off-chance Ravensthorpe fans exist (unlikely lol), and that they have found themselves here, reading this crazy fictional excursus, and be like - wut? Have you even been there? The answer is yes :) ]


	2. The Taproom.

Eivor woke. He first became aware of his aching head; then, that he was laying on a couch; then, that the couch was outdoors and that the morning was already baking hot.  
‘Fuck summer,’ he muttered to himself as he opened his eyes, wincing.  
He’d been asleep on the couch that graced Sigurd’s front porch, just a few houses up the street from the pub. The town was quiet, as it always was on a Sunday, save the occasional road train that rumbled along the main road on the way to Esperance or back the other way towards the distant city.  
He sat up, squinting resentfully at the glaring sunlight in the street, at the heat pressing on his face. He was going to have to go out in that, because he desperately needed a shower and his bed. He smelt of beer and cigarettes from hanging around in the beer garden all night, and there was no denying it - he was definitely hungover: His head was pounding, his stomach churning, and as he attempted to swallow, there it was - a mouth like the bottom of a cocky’s cage.  
He frowned, grasping after the foggy memories of the night before. He’d been determined to ask the hot bartender for his number, but irritatingly, Ivarr had suddenly taken an interest in Eivor and each time he’d gone to the bar, had hurried to serve him. Eivor had seen him twice abandon a customer mid-order to hurry over, and it wasn’t as though he made any attempt to offer good service - he was just as slow and annoying as he was with everyone else…. But then Eivor groaned a little, realising that Ivarr had probably noticed the long looks he’d been hopefully giving his brother. He’d no doubt been hopelessly obvious.  
He braced himself and stood, setting out for his place on the other side of the railway tracks that ran through town. It wasn’t far, he told himself; but everywhere was ‘too fuckin’ far’ in summer with a hangover.  
He ambled back towards the pub, which was on the main street through town, which he’d cross before the railway tracks. His house was just on the other side, facing the tracks.  
It wasn’t far, he told himself again, sticking his hands in his jean pockets and hunching over a little.  
As he passed the hotel, he noticed the two front doors were propped open, and inside there was quiet music playing, and the sound of a broom in use.  
As he drew level with the door, he glanced in and paused a moment guiltily. The tall bartender was humming to himself as he swept his way across the floor. He was wearing shorts and a single, and for the first time Eivor really noticed the tattoos - two full sleeves, and more on both calves, winding upwards and disappearing into his boardies which hid his thighs. Strong thighs, he imagined, his mouth growing drier than it already was. A vision of tracing those tattoos upwards intruded upon him, and he felt his pulse quicken...  
‘Take a photo. It lasts longer.’  
Eivor swung around, and found Ivarr smiling cynically where he stood, having come out of the second door that led into the lady’s lounge, and leant against the wall. He was eyeing Eivor in a way that told him he hadn’t been wrong - he had definitely noticed Eivor’s interest.  
Eivor flushed, went to stand a little nearer to him and said confidently, ‘You’re Ivarr.’  
He looked out across the main street and the train lines as though he wasn’t much interested in that, but he was clearly pleased with himself as he said, ‘My reputation precedes me, then.’  
‘It does.’  
‘Dad was a windbag.’ Then he looked at Eivor and considered him for a long moment. ‘Who are you?’  
‘Eivor,’ he said, holding out his hand to shake, more out of habit than anything. ‘I work out at the mine.’  
Ivarr eyed his hand but didn’t take it, and Eivor let it drop again as he said, ‘Of course you do. Every fucker here does.’  
‘Who are you talking to, Ivarr?’  
Eivor swung around and found that the tall bartender had come out of the door into the main bar behind him, and had propped himself on the broom he was holding. He was looking Eivor over with interest, that lop-sided smile back again.  
Eivor smiled back, his heart racing a little. For a brief moment he wished he’d kept walking so that he might have been introduced when he didn’t look wrinkled and exhausted – but it was always the way. Besides, the tall bartender was looking at him as though he was something edible he’d like to have a taste of - and that drove all thoughts of retreating from his head.  
‘I’m Eivor,’ he said.  
‘Ubba.’ He held out his hand – huge, like the rest of him - and Eivor smiled as he shook it, that flutter back in his stomach as their eyes met and held for a fraction longer than necessary. He thought, Jesus. This man is going to prove a liability.  
Ivarr said, ‘I need to piss,’ and went back inside with a disgusted glance at them both.  
Ubba gestured inside. ‘Hair of the dog?’  
Eivor was certainly thirsty. He smiled at that thought. ‘Thanks.’  
He followed Ubba up the single cement step and went in. While Eivor went to the bar and perched on a barstool, Ubba went behind the bar and cracked a mid-strength for both of them, and handed one to Eivor.  
‘How are you finding it?’ Eivor asked, gesturing to indicate the pub in general.  
Ubba shrugged, still smiling, eyes still resting warmly on Eivor, Eivor’s stomach still flipping over. ‘I worked in pubs and clubs in Northbridge. Nice change of pace here.’  
Eivor took a mouthful of beer. ‘It won’t always be so busy. The town just wanted to check you out.’  
Eivor saw the same thought occur to Ubba even as he thought it himself - he almost asked if Eivor liked what he saw; but instead he grinned, and looked down at the floor for a moment. ‘Thankfully,’ he said, ‘Or I’d have to hire barmaids. Ivarr is no help.’  
As though summoned by his name - suggesting he’d been listening at the door and made no attempt to hide it - he came into the room with a grin, leaning with his back against the bar near Eivor. ‘I told you I wasn’t going to be your bar-bitch, Ubba.’  
Ubba shook his head with a light frown. ‘We agreed…’  
Ivarr cut him off. ‘I never agreed to anything. I never wanted to come to this shithole. You made me come here.’  
Ubba shook his head. ‘You know that’s not true. You came because you said you wanted to escape “your sow of a wife.”’  
He scowled. He couldn’t disagree, but he did correct, ‘Ex-wife.’  
Ubba shook his head, the shadow of a smile crossing his face. ‘If she’s an ex, I’m the devil’s elbow.’ He glanced at Eivor with a cheeky grin, clearly teasing Ivarr now, then looked back at his brother. ‘You even hurried to tell her where we were going, didn’t you?’  
His scowl darkened, eyeing Ubba savagely. ‘I didn’t have to. She’s a fucking bloodhound - I don’t know how she does it. She messaged earlier to say she’ll be here on Tuesday with the boy.’  
Eivor asked, ‘You have a son?’  
Ivarr looked at Eivor, his face softening perceptibly. Ubba noticed and frowned. ‘I do. He’s fifteen and a damn good kid.’  
Ubba snorted at that, and said to Eivor, ‘He really is. God only knows how this shithead made that boy.’  
Ivarr grinned. ‘Fuck knows.’  
Eivor had finished his beer, so he shuffled off the stool, squinted out the door, vaguely hoping summer would have fucked off in the interim, but sighed deeply to see it had not. He looked to Ubba, and injecting as much warmth into such an innocuous phrase as he could, he said, ‘Thanks for the beer.’  
Ubba smiled, his eyes softening, something more being said between them than the words they spoke. ‘I could hardly let you perish on the pavement. Do you need a lift home?’  
‘I can take you,’ Ivarr volunteered. Ubba snapped his head around, looking at him in surprise, but Ivarr ignored him and continued, ‘The Harley could do with a run.’  
‘It’s all good,’ Eivor said, looking from one to the other, wondering if this was brotherly rivalry or something else. ‘I’m just on the other side of the railway tracks. It’s not far.’  
Eivor ambled to the door, and Ivarr followed, leaving Ubba to bin the empty beer bottles with the frown back on his face.  
Ivarr stood in the doorway as Eivor stepped out into the furnace of heat outside. ‘Come for parmies on Tuesday. You can meet the boy.’  
Eivor realised any chance he might have with Ubba - and he definitely wanted that chance - relied on his being accepted by his brother, or the bastard would just cock block him forever; so he said, ‘Alright,’ before adding, ‘I’m off swing this week. I have nothing better to do anyway.’  
Ivarr nodded with a smile, then turned back into the pub without saying anything further, leaving Eivor to make the dash home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Hair of the dog" is an alcoholic drink - usually a beer - drunk the morning after a big night to [hopefully] cure a hangover.


	3. The Kitchen

You could set your watch by it. Every afternoon at 6:30, the miners came into the pub dressed in their orange and yellow high-viz, their faces covered in red dust streaked with sweat, and tired grouchy expressions after fourteen hours of thankless labour in forty-degree heat.  
Most of them were FIFO, men and women who flew into town on a Friday morning in light, terrifyingly loud aircraft and were put up at the motel down the road, a place that was of a similar vintage to the pub; they came to the pub for dinner and beer, and to shout at the TV - whatever was on - be it the races, the footy, or Farmer Wants a Wife; then they would fly home again the following Friday, replaced by the next swing. The cycle never ended.  
Eivor was one of the exceptions, having moved to the town when he got the job. Normally when he was off swing, he didn’t go to the pub, but Sigurd had talked him into it - he didn’t have to try very hard, Eivor admitted to himself. He hadn’t stopped thinking about Ubba for five minutes together; so much so that he’d been forced to take himself in hand during the night. His brain was out of control.  
Sigurd led the way, Eivor scanning the taproom swiftly, relieved that Ivarr wasn’t there, and hoping he could get that number he should have asked for the day before.   
‘I’ll get the first jug,’ he said, and Sigurd nodded, going to sit at a table near a window. Eivor went towards the bar, carefully keeping cool - or what he told himself was cool, as his heart raced and the butterflies became a cyclone in his guts.

Ubba saw him come in, and admitted to himself that the man was god-damn glorious as his heart gave a little flutter. Eivor was only wearing a T-shirt, boardies, and trainers, nothing out of the ordinary, but there was just something about him; the way he carried himself, his obvious fitness, the tattoos on his forearms, just... everything. Ubba honestly thought he would have been hot even if he’d been dressed in a hessian sack.  
He was fucking doomed, he thought, smiling to himself as he served Brucie another beer, but doomed in the best possible sense. He’d seen his interest returned in those icy blue eyes, in the smile that lurked around Eivor’s mouth whenever their eyes met. He knew that they wanted the same thing.   
Now that he had walked in, their eyes sought each other and Ubba nodded with a smile of acknowledgement, but then deliberately took his time to serve him. He didn’t want to appear too keen. He gathered the empties, and saying to Eivor, ‘I’ll be right back,’ he took them away to the kitchen.

Ivarr was a fully trained cook, and he was prepping for dinner. His criminal record had meant that he couldn’t get work anywhere in the city - and the scar across his face didn’t help. Ubba had persuaded him to come with him to Ravensthorpe on the understanding, as he’d said to Ubba the day before, that he wouldn’t be a bar bitch, but would work the kitchens.   
‘Kitchen opens in 5,’ Ubba said, pointing at the greasy clock above the door as he slid the rack full of dirty glasses onto the bench beside the dishwasher.  
‘I know,’ Ivarr snarled, chopping at a pile of onions.  
‘Are you ready?’ Ubba asked, more to be provoking than anything else. Ivarr eyed him dangerously. He grinned and held up his hands, before retreating hastily. He went back to the taproom, chuckling to himself.  
He went straight to Eivor, who was waiting patiently, and asked, ‘What can I get you?’  
‘Jug of tap,’ he said. ‘You doing food?’  
Ubba nodded as he filled a jug. ‘I’d give it a minute though. The cook’s in a temper. We don’t want to rush him.’  
‘Ivarr?’  
Ubba nodded with a grin as he plonked the jug on the bar. ‘He’s an excellent chef - has won awards here and there.’ Their eyes met, and he found himself saying, ‘You should see some of the meals he’s made for competitions. I can send you some pics if you want?’  
Eivor didn’t miss a beat, though his smile gave the game away. He took out his phone. ‘What’s your number?’ Ubba told him, and watched as he typed it in then slipped the phone back into his pocket. ‘I’ll text you later,’ he said with a lingering smile, before taking the jug from the bar, and turning to the table where Sigurd was waiting grouchily.  
Ubba turned to the next customer, his heart racing, one thought dominating all others: He was going to have that man if it was the last thing he did.

There were more people in the bar than the brothers had expected, and they all wanted to eat. Ivarr was totally frazzled when Ubba delivered the twentieth order.   
‘Ubba - if you don’t get me some fucking help, I’ll start stabbing. I can’t cook and be a waitress. I told you we needed a waitress.’  
Testily, Ubba said, ‘How was I to know how many covers we’d have? And where am I supposed to get help from with no notice?’  
Ivarr waved the knife at him menacingly. ‘I don’t care. Just find someone.’  
Ubba said, ‘You’re fucking dreaming. Just make do.’ He left the kitchen followed by a string of abuse, and went back to the bar.   
Eivor was waiting with the empty jug, and noticing his frown, he asked, ‘The cook unhappy?’  
‘He’s demanding help. I told him to deal with it.’ He grimaced.  
‘I can help.’ Eivor said without thinking about it. He only knew he wanted to make Ubba smile. Then he thought to add, ‘Not that I’m any kind of cook.’  
Ubba said, ‘We don’t need a cook, just a waitress. Are you sure you want to do that?’  
‘It’s no trouble,’ Eivor said easily. ‘I’m off swing. It’s not like I did anything with my day.’  
Ubba smiled with genuine gratitude. ‘I hate to ask, but you would be an absolute life saver.’  
Eivor said with a shrug, ‘You didn’t ask. Let me just tell Sigurd. The kitchen’s the other side of the ladies lounge, yeah?’  
‘Sure is,’ Ubba said, adding guiltily, ‘We’ll pay you for your time....’  
Eivor shook his head and interrupted cheerfully, ‘That’s not necessary. That’s what friends are for, right?’  
Ubba smiled his lop-sided grin then, and said, ‘So I’ve heard.’ The look he gave Eivor was considerably warmer than that of a friend, though.  
Eivor smiled back, belly flip-flopping, then turned away to go explain himself to Sigurd.

‘It’s as hot as the devil’s balls in here,’ Eivor said as he pushed his way through the doors into the kitchen, assailed by the smell of food, the wall of heat from the oven and the general stuffiness of the room.  
Ivarr looked up from the stove, and for a moment he seemed lost for words at Eivor’s appearance.  
Eventually, he asked, ‘My idiot brother didn’t ask you to do this, did he?’  
‘I volunteered,’ Eivor said with that cheerful smile still on his face.  
Ivarr’s expression hovered somewhere between a scowl and a smile as he said, ‘I just need a waitress. You don’t need to touch the food.’  
‘Just as well,’ Eivor said, ‘I’m a beans on toast man.’  
Ivarr smiled properly at that, and said, ‘I’ll have to teach you a thing or two about food, Eivor.’ Then he sobered, and said in a businesslike tone, ‘Listen up. The jobs easy. Take the full plates from here, and bring back the orders from the bar. Collect the dirty dishes and stack for the dishwasher in the racks there. Easy.’

The night passed quickly, until 8:30 came, when the kitchen closed.  
Ivarr threw down the spatula he’d been holding into a dirty bowl, flung the dish towel over his shoulder, and said, ‘Thank fuck for that.’ Eivor was at the dishwasher, and dragged out the rack of glasses that had finished, and pushed in the next. Ivarr said, ‘You can stop now. I’ll do the rest.’  
Eivor tilted his head. ‘You’re sure?’  
Ivarr said, ‘It’s fine. Come on. We deserve a break.’   
He led the way out the back door, which opened onto a grassed area enclosed in a crook of the building, and was bordered by the fence that ran along the back laneway. A mismatched set of table and chairs was set in the middle of the lawn. The area was as ugly and worn down as everything else about the hotel. The grass was dead, the plastic chairs were perishing, the laminate chairs peeling, and the table was rickety, but Eivor didn’t care - it was ten degrees cooler out there at least.   
He collapsed gratefully onto one of the chairs as Ivarr took two beers out of a rusty fridge under the veranda at one end of the space. He knocked the tops off on the table edge, handing one to Eivor before sitting in a chair at the head of the table.  
‘You did well tonight,’ Ivarr offered, before adding jokingly, ‘If you ever want a change of career...’  
Eivor grinned. ‘I’ll keep that in mind.’  
They were silent for a moment, then Ivarr said, ‘Seriously though. You didn’t have to help. It was good of you. Not many people in this lifetime have done a damn thing to help Ragnar’s sons.’  
Eivor looked at him in enquiry. ‘What do you mean?’  
He shrugged, suddenly awkward. ‘I’m just tired, I think. Forget I said anything.’ He took a long pull of his beer, and Eivor did likewise.  
Eivor asked, ‘You didn’t get along with your old man?’  
Ivarr snorted. ‘You could say that. He was a prick of a father. Let’s just say he shot through on Mum after he was caught having an affair with Ubba’s Mum - who was also married, to his best mate. That was the first time. She always took him back,’ he grimaced and shook his head as he added, ‘and he could never keep it in his pants.’  
Eivor shook his head. ‘He used to make out that he was a lady killer, but no one ever believed him.’  
Ivarr smiled with a touch of bitterness. ‘He wasn’t lying. He has thirteen kids - that we know about, anyway - to five different mothers.’  
Eivor’s eyebrows shot up. ‘That’s a lot of kids.’  
He smiled gently, like he had when he’d mentioned his son. ‘Yeah. Family get-togethers are always messy. Our brother, Halfdan, has always acted as the stand-in for Dad, ever since the old man left for good. He’s a good guy, Halfdan. Not like me and Ubba and the others though. Serious. Grown up.’ He grinned. ‘You know. Boring.’  
Eivor smiled as he peeled the label off his bottle and asked, ‘If Ubba isn’t a full brother, how come you’re so close?’  
Ivarr pursed his lips and considered him for a moment before he said, ‘He grew up with us. His Mum dumped him on my Mum’s doorstep and there was no question about him being Ragnar’s son. He looks just like Dad did as a young man.’  
Eivor didn’t argue, though he could see no similarity.   
Ivarr continued, ‘Mum was a crazy cow, but she was also a rock. She had an endless ability to care for us kids, even when we didn’t deserve it. After this happened,’ he indicated the scar on his face, ‘She still let me move back in with her and the younger ones. She looked after me like I’d never left.’ He sighed and said more quietly than Eivor had expected from him, ‘Nothing’s been the same since she went.’ He saw Eivor’s question, and added, ‘Emphysema. She smoked like a chimney. Got her in the end.’  
‘Sorry,’ Eivor said with a sigh.  
Ivarr shrugged and said in a sturdier voice, ‘Everyone dies, Eivor. You and me will go one day, too. I just hope it’s not like that.’ He paused for a moment before he said, ‘He hasn’t ploughed anyone for a long time, by the way.’  
Eivor blinked, and asked, ‘Sorry, what?’  
‘Ubba,’ he said, finishing his beer and throwing the empty bottle into a bin nearby. ‘He hasn’t been with anyone in a long time. Treat him nice.’ He stood then. ‘Anyway, I better get on with cleaning the kitchen.’  
Eivor stared at him for a moment, lost for words, as he stood too. ‘Ivarr…’  
Ivarr shook his head. ‘No need to say anything about it. Just do the right thing or, you know... I’ll kill you.’ He grinned wolfishly as he opened the door for Eivor, and they went back inside together.

‘I’ll see you tomorrow, then?’ Eivor asked as he paused at the doors on his way out of the kitchen when everything was finished.  
Ivarr looked at him questioningly.  
‘You said I should come meet your boy?’  
‘Oh!’ Ivarr said, his face clearing. ‘I forgot the twig was coming tomorrow. Yes. I’ll cook you a parmie that’ll make you forget about beans on toast for life.’  
‘That’s a big promise,’ Eivor said jokingly. ‘You better deliver.’  
Ivarr grinned and waved him off, and Eivor went away back to the taproom. He still didn’t know what to make of Ivarr exactly; he was too sharp to be entirely likeable; he made Eivor feel a little nervous, uncertain of himself; but nonetheless, he felt pleased somehow, as if he had passed a rigorous test he’d only had the vaguest sense he was taking part in. 

Only Sigurd remained sitting at the bar, as it was already past the 9 o’clock closing. He and Ubba were watching basketball on TV, while Ubba slowly and absently wiped the bar down.   
‘That was a foul!’ Sigurd exclaimed, slamming a hand on the bar.  
‘Shit refs,’ Ubba grunted, frowning. Then he saw Eivor come in from the ladies’ lounge and his face cleared. ‘You didn’t get knifed,’ he said jokingly, the lop-sided smile appearing. ‘You must have done something right.’  
Sigurd looked at Eivor with a raised eyebrow. ‘Have you found your calling?’  
Eivor grinned. ‘If I ever get sick of money, Ivarr has promised he’ll give me a job.’ Sigurd chuckled as Eivor asked Ubba, a touch shyly, ‘I can help for the next few days, until you find someone?’  
Ubba felt a strange feeling come over him then – that hint of shyness made him want to touch him. He was glad that he was on the other side of the bar, or he might have done it. He said warmly, ‘Thanks. I have to insist we pay you for your work though. You can fill out the forms tomorrow.’  
Eivor smiled. ‘Alright, since you insist.’  
Sigurd stood then. ‘Now that’s organised, let’s get out of here. Let these guys close up.’ He said to Ubba then, while side-eyeing Eivor, ‘Thanks for the company, Ubba, seeing as I can’t depend on my so-called friend for that.’  
‘Anytime,’ Ubba said with a smile, and followed them to the door, locking it behind them. 

In the carpark, as they prepared to go in opposite directions, Sigurd said to Eivor, ‘God that guy’s got it bad.’  
Eivor felt himself flush, grateful for the terrible street lighting so that Sigurd couldn’t see it. He felt like a coy teenager as he asked, ‘Did he ask about me?’   
Sigurd chuckled. ‘He did. He’s not subtle. Just came out and asked if you were seeing anyone. I said not yet.’ He chuckled again when Eivor punched him lightly in the shoulder.  
‘You did not!’  
‘I did. Someone has to be direct with you, or you’d circle around one another for months.’  
‘You should listen to your own advice, Sigurd!’  
‘What do you mean?’ he asked sharply.  
‘I mean, why don’t you propose to Randvi already? You know you want to. You’ve said so more than once when you’re drunk, and I know she’s keen.’  
He sounded breathless as he said, ‘She didn’t say so?’  
Eivor said solemnly, ‘I wouldn’t lie about that. Anyway. Go home to her, would you?’  
They said goodnight, and went away in opposite directions, both smiling to themselves.

When they were gone, Ubba sighed - partly from tiredness after the long day, partly with happiness with what he had learnt about Eivor, and the anticipation of seeing him again the following day - and took up the last rack of dirty glasses. He held it on his hip as he flicked off the lights to the taproom, and then walked through to the kitchen.  
Ivarr was just finishing off the dinner dishes, and he looked up when Ubba came in. ‘Chuck them down. I’ll do them.’  
Ubba did as asked, and rested a hand on his shoulder for a moment. ‘I’ll take care of it tomorrow then.’  
Ivarr just nodded and waved him off.   
Ubba went to the door to the private quarters, but before he could leave the room, Ivarr said, ‘Don’t forget Eivor is coming for lunch tomorrow. Might want to tidy up your beard.’  
Ubba said with a grin, ‘Fuck off, Ivarr.’  
Ivarr just laughed to himself, and Ubba continued out.


	4. Food that'll Change Your Life

As Eivor crossed the railway lines the following morning, just before lunch, he saw a dozen motorbikes parked out the front of the Hotel; Harley’s mostly, he saw as he got closer. There were a few dodgy types out the front smoking, wearing Coffin Cheaters cuts, and they eyed him as he approached. Bearded, unsmiling, aggressive even when relaxed. These kinds of guys had always made Eivor nervous – he found himself tensing for a fight.  
‘Morning,’ he said, eyeing them back.  
They none of them replied, just stared at him as he passed.  
Inside the main taproom, there were only a few customers scattered about, but otherwise just the races on TV and no one serving at the main bar; the sound of raised voices reached him from the direction of the ladies’ lounge, so Eivor ducked through, expecting the worst after seeing the bikies out the front.  
He stepped through the doorway then paused just inside the door, hanging back. He didn’t want to intrude on the messy scene that he took in at a glance was playing out there. Ivarr and a woman, Linda no doubt, were arguing; near the door, three more bikies were loitering, watching the fight with tense expressions.  
Linda, Ivarr’s wife (or ex-wife, Eivor still wasn’t sure), was snarling, ‘It’s his school holidays! You can keep him until after New Year, you useless weasel!’ Eivor wasn’t surprised by the rough-as-guts look of her. She was just what he had expected from a bikies mole - bleached blonde hair with too much regrowth, a narrow face, and dressed in a skin-tight leopard print dress. God only knew how she managed to straddle a bike in that, Eivor thought, grimacing at the idea.  
She went on, ‘The boy needs his father, Ivarr. Even you know that’s true!’  
She had gestured off to one side, and Eivor noticed Ceolbert for the first time standing beside his uncle. Ubba had been right; he couldn’t see how this boy had come from the two wrecked individuals who had produced him. He was a tender looking kid: rounded, soft face; gentle eyes; and an exasperated expression which Eivor thought was probably all-but permanent.  
Ivarr said, ‘Of course I know that, you old hag! I’ve told you he can stay with me for as long as you want to leave him here. He’s better off here than he is with you and whatever piece of shit you’re squeezing now, anyway!’  
One of the bikies near the door roared, ‘Fuck you, Ivarr! You’re the only trash around here!’  
‘Oh, so it’s you, Ferret! I should’ve fuckin’ known! Was she still warm from me when you climbed on? Or did you wait a full five minutes first?’  
Ferret made a show of rushing towards Ivarr, but his mates held him back. ‘Fuck you, Ivarr! Gazza should’ve finished you when he had the chance!’  
Ivarr scoffed. ‘If I wanted to hear you talk shit, Ferret, I’d cut off your tongue and shove it up your arse.’  
‘You fucker!’ Ferret roared, and attempted to launch himself at Ivarr, but his two cronies had a good grip on him.  
‘Don’t fuck with him,’ Eivor heard one of them say. ‘It’s not worth it. You know what he did to Macca, man.’  
Ferret was apparently swayed by this reasoning, his struggle to get at Ivarr stopped, and with a parting string of abuse levelled at Ivarr, he pushed his friends off. He all but shouted, ‘Come on, Linda. Let’s get the fuck out of this shithole!’  
She didn’t object and turned, glancing at Eivor with an unattractively suggestive raised eyebrow as she pranced out after Ferret. The sound of the Harley’s starting up made talk impossible for a moment, then they were gone.  
‘I always enjoy the colour you bring into my life,’ Ubba said dryly.  
Ivarr seemed invigorated by the scene. He grinned, then noticed Eivor leaning against the wall near the door.  
‘Eivor! Come meet my boy. This is Ceolbert.’  
Eivor went to join them, smiling. ‘Hi, Ceolbert.’  
Ceolbert looked at him with interest. ‘Dad mentioned there was a new waitress. I guess you’re her?’ His voice was gentle, not at all what Eivor had expected, though it suited his face.  
Eivor grinned. ‘Yes, I’m her. Just until they can find a real one.’  
‘Better looking than most that Ubba’s hired in the past,’ Ivarr said, which made Ubba frown at him.  
Eivor grinned. ‘I’ll take the compliment,’ he said. ‘Now - I’m expecting world-altering parmies. I hope I’m not going to be disappointed?’  
Ivarr grinned and put a hand on Ceolbert’s shoulder. ‘A promise is a promise. Come on Ceolbert, my young sous chef. Time to learn a few things.’  
They went away towards the kitchen, and Eivor looked to Ubba. The tall man was looking at him with undeniable warmth; but when he spoke, it was purely practical. ‘Come into the office. We’ll sort out your paperwork while Ivarr sorts out lunch.’

The office was a mess, and as Ubba showed him in, he said apologetically, ‘Dad’s mess. I’m working through it.’ He sat, his chair squeaking in protest at the sheer bulk of him, and began sorting through a stack of papers that were in a set of pigeonholes. ‘I swear, he couldn’t organise a root in a brothel. Fuck knows how he managed on his own.’  
Eivor perched on an office chair, one of the kind that had wheels. ‘He didn’t. Tonna did everything.’  
He squinted as he tried to place the name. ‘The barmaid? The one that... found him?’  
Eivor looked shifty as he said dubiously, ‘Yes… the one that found him.’  
Ubba picked up on his tone, and smiled. ‘He was screwing the barmaid?’  
Eivor smiled back. ‘So it’s said.’  
‘I suppose I shouldn’t ask, but do you think he died while they were….’ He grimaced and stopped himself. ‘Nope, it’s too hideous to think about.’  
Eivor said with a disgusted face, though he was still laughing, ‘Thanks for putting that image in my head!’  
Ubba was smiling again, looking at him over the desk, and he suddenly said, ‘I don’t like to fuck around, you know.’  
Eivor, confused by the change of direction, asked, ‘With barmaids?’  
‘No,’ he said, then snorted and corrected himself, as their eyes met and held. ‘No, I don’t fuck around with barmaids, and no, that’s not what I meant. I meant that I like to call a spade a spade.’ He took Eivor’s hand, which was in reach, and very gently tugged him closer on his wheelie chair. Eivor made no attempt to stop him. Very close now, knees knit together, he said huskily, ‘I think you know that I want you?’  
Butterflies fluttered alive in Eivor’s stomach. _Be cool,_ he told himself. ‘Do you?’ he asked, and was pleased with how his voice sounded light and playful.  
Ubba smiled, and reached out a hand to touch the side of Eivor’s face; his broad, calloused thumb tracing across the bristling skin of his jawline, the look they shared dark and needful. ‘I want you,’ he repeated with more certainty, ‘but I want more than just a moment.’ He hesitated briefly before adding, ‘If all you want is a quick fuck, then I’m not what you’re looking for.’  
‘No,’ Eivor said quickly, his voice sounding like it was being squeezed out of him. He could hardly think as his whole body responded to his touch. He felt giddy. ‘That’s not what I want.’  
Satisfied, Ubba kissed him then, surprisingly gently, his lips soft and lingering as his hand caressed the curve of Eivor’s neck, then traced down across the collar bone beneath his singlet, and came to rest, finger hooked into the neck-hole. Eivor moaned against his mouth, his whole body a rush of wanting, of heat, fire in his veins. He’d known it would be like this from the moment he’d laid eyes on him, if they ever made it to this moment; but he still wasn’t prepared for the sheer chemical rush of it.  
Ubba murmured against his mouth, ‘I want you to ache for me, Eivor.’  
Eivor breathlessly laughed, resting his forehead against Ubba’s. ‘Believe me, I already do.’  
Ubba sat back reluctantly, his chair giving another squeak. He looked at Eivor hungrily, but he said playfully, ‘Good. I told you I don’t fuck with waitresses. I don’t intend to break that rule, not even for one as hot as you.’  
Eivor, his voice sounding strange to his own ears, said, ‘You’d better hire someone else quickly then.’  
Ubba said emphatically, ‘Believe me, it’s at the top of my to do list.’ He slid a form across the surface of the desk towards him then, making a good show of being totally collected, despite his own rampaging desires. ‘Here’s the paperwork for you to fill out.’  
Eivor looked at it, then at him, as laughter bubbled up out of him. He shook his head. ‘You’re a tease!’  
Ubba stood then, and stood over him, a smile playing around his lips. His voice was warm, loving even, as he said, ‘You begin to know me then.’ He caressed his cheek briefly once more, running a thumb across his bottom lip, then went to the door and flinging it open, yelled out happily, ‘Ivarr! Where’s my lunch?’  
Eivor didn’t hear the content of what was yelled back, but Ubba chuckled and said over his shoulder, ‘Lunch in five.’  
When he was alone, Eivor closed his eyes for a moment and exhaled slowly, trying to get his shit under control, to stop himself grinning like an idiot.

A table had been set in the ladies’ lounge, and Ceolbert and Ubba were already seated side by side when Eivor came out of the office to join them.  
He said to Ubba as coolly as he could muster, ‘I left the form on your desk.’ He felt like his voice was not his own; he couldn’t keep the wanting from it.  
Ubba nodded, his tongue darting out across his bottom lip, his eyes lingering on Eivor’s mouth in a way that made Eivor’s body respond. He hastily pulled out the seat opposite Ubba and sat; but by necessity, because Ubba’s legs were so long, their legs became intertwined under the table. The contact did not help calm the situation. Ubba smiled as one of his knees came to rest against Eivor’s inner thigh, enjoying Eivor’s heavy swallow and the look he gave him, at once heated and pleading.  
Ivarr appeared carrying a tray, and setting it down, he plunked a plate in front of each of them, then sat himself beside Eivor.  
‘Thanks, Ivarr,’ Eivor said, dragging his mind out of the gutter with difficulty. He managed a grin. ‘It looks almost good enough to eat.’  
‘Get stuck in,’ Ivarr said with a smile.

When they’d eaten, Ivarr asked Eivor, ‘So?’  
Eivor forked the last pieces of chicken and bacon, and waved it at Ivarr with a grin. ‘I think it was better than beans on toast.’  
‘Ah!’ he said, smiling. ‘That’s quite the compliment coming from you.’  
‘Wait until you taste his Mexican,’ Ubba said, leaning back in his chair, putting his hands behind his head, unintentionally emphasising the muscles of his upper arms, and at the same time, moving his knee further up Eivor’s inner thigh. Eivor tensed, looking away, suddenly fascinated by the pattern in the pressed tin ceiling.  
Ubba hadn't noticed, and was saying, ‘Those quesadillas will really change your life,' when a sudden loud banging at the external door interrupted him. As one, they all turned to look, and saw a tall, broad and ugly man scowling fiercely at them through the glass door.  
Ivarr looked at Eivor with his eyebrows raised. ‘Who’s that?’  
‘Dag. One of Sigurd's friends from school.’  
Ivarr frowned. ‘Dag? Isn’t that what you call the shit that gets stuck on the back end of a sheep, that you have to cut off?’  
Eivor snorted. ‘You’ve been talking to a farmer. It sure is.’  
Ivarr shrugged, and then turned to the door. ‘What do you want?’ he shouted at Dag.  
‘It’s after 1,’ Dag shouted back, pointing at his watch.  
Ivarr had a look of such disgust on his face that Eivor had to repress a chuckle. The ex-bikie stood and went over to the door. He put his face at the same level as Dag’s through the glass, and shouted, ‘We’re not open yet - obviously!’  
‘Then change you sign!’ Dag said aggressively, ‘or I’ll break the damn door in.’  
Ivarr turned back to look at Eivor, a look of incredulity on his face. ‘Is he always like this?’  
‘Most of the time,’ he said, a wry smile on his face.  
Ivarr turned back to the door. He flicked the heavy latch open with a thunk, and when Dag, assuming he was being let in, took a step up onto the cement step Ivarr stopped him with a quick shove backwards. He was considerably shorter than Dag, but the taller man was at a disadvantage as he had to step downwards, back off the step, which threw him off balance.  
Ivarr stepped down after him, and with a menacing hiss in his voice, he got up into his face, and said, ‘If you ever come round here threatening me or my property, no one will ever find your body. Understand?’  
Dag scowled, but Eivor saw that even his dumb arse understood when he was faced with a real threat. He mumbled resentfully, ‘Sorry, man. When are you opening?’  
Ivarr stared at him for another long moment, letting him squirm; but Ivarr’s voice was back to normal as he said, ‘In ten minutes.’ He added pointedly, ‘You can wait out here.’  
He went back inside, closing the door behind him, and locking it with a loud thunk. He said to Eivor, ‘What the fuck is with these people?’ He was shaking his head as he returned to the table.  
‘Welcome to the country,’ Eivor said with a grin.

After the dishes had been cleared, and he’d helped clean up the kitchen, Eivor ducked into the taproom briefly to say bye to Ubba - he would come back for his shift later.  
He paused for a moment, seeing that there was a situation underway, and interested to see how it played out, he hung back by the door.   
Ubba was behind the bar, a glass in his hands, which he was drying with a tea towel. On the other side of the bar - standing, one hand on the bar mats, the other pointing vigorously at Ubba, was Dag.  
‘Your old man,’ he was saying abrasively, ‘never forget that it’s us, the customers, what make this place, not you. You should get that brother of yours to pull his head in or someone will dob him in to the cops for making threats against their life.’  
Ubba listened, his face impassive. When Dag paused for breath, he said in a quiet voice, ‘Is that what you’re intending to do?’  
Dag scowled. ‘No, of course not. I’m no dog.’  
Ubba smiled then, coldly. ‘I’m pleased to hear it. I’d hate for things to get out of hand.’  
‘What do you mean?’ Dag demanded, ‘Are you threatening me.’  
Eivor could not say exactly what happened then. Ubba remained entirely calm. He barely moved beyond the constantly turning glass in his hands, definitely dry long before; but something had changed.  
Dag clearly felt it, and hesitantly moved a little way back from the bar. He almost looked like he was going to apologise.  
Ubba said in his ordinary voice, ‘No. I’m not threatening you.’ He paused for a moment, seeing if Dag was going to argue; when he didn’t, he finished blandly, ‘Can I get you anything else?’  
‘No,’ Dag said, sounding uncertain of himself, though the frown returned to his brow. ‘I’ll be going.’  
‘Have a good afternoon,’ Ubba said, watching Dag as he walked away. ‘See you next time.’  
As Dag went out the door which opened onto the beer garden, Eivor approached the bar.  
Ubba smiled at him, setting the glass down. ‘That man really is the shit on the rear end of a sheep,’ he said, with a shake of his head.  
Eivor tilted his head a little. ‘What did you do to him? I’ve never seen anyone make that arsehole back off like that.’  
Ubba shrugged. ‘You learn some things, working in clubs. I’ve learnt to avoid fights.’  
Eivor considered this, pointedly looking at him as if to say he doubted anyone would take him on in a fight. ‘People really try to start shit with you?’  
‘The bigger you are, the more the drunken idiots want to fight you,’ he said wryly. Then he paused and asked, ‘You going home?’  
‘Yeah, I’ll be back later.’  
He smiled, and swept him with a look up and down. Playfully, he said, ‘Make sure you dress the part. We have to maintain appearances.’  
Eivor raised an eyebrow. ‘The first time I laid eyes on Ivarr he was behind this bar in a ripped T-shirt and jeans that were too big. I’d be hard pressed to dress worse.’  
He chuckled cheekily. ‘You make a good point; but you do want to impress your boss.’  
He said softly, ‘I’m fairly confident I’ve already done that.’ For a moment, their eyes held, Eivor’s pulse rate escalating rapidly, the sudden desire to jump the bar crossing his mind in a flash of insanity. Instead, he said, ‘I’ll see you later.’  
‘It’s a date,’ Ubba said with a grin.


	5. After Midnight

It began with the first orders, and never stopped. Eivor had come to the bar to collect whatever orders had been made before the kitchen opened, and Ubba took the small stack of dockets from beside the till and very deliberately moved into Eivor’s personal space to hand them to him, allowing his fingers to brush against Eivor’s. His look was one of amused intensity.  
‘Is that how it’s going to be?’ Eivor murmured, too low for anyone else to hear.  
Ubba grinned. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’  
When Eivor came the next time to the bar, he leant past Ubba as he stood at the till, pressing against him far more than was strictly necessary as he reached around to pick up the new stack of orders.  
‘Excuse me,’ he said softly, with mock sincerity, making Ubba chuckle under his breath.  
Delivery of the racks of dirty glasses to the kitchen went much the same way, until eventually Ivarr said, ‘This room is big enough for you not to stand on top of the waitress, Ubba.’  
‘Maybe the waitress likes it,’ he responded with a smirk.  
Ivarr looked at them both, then pointing his knife at one and then the other, he said with an icy voice, ‘Not in my kitchen, she doesn’t - not if she knows what’s good for her.’  
Eivor grinned as Ubba went away with an empty rack, chuckling to himself.  
After he was gone, Ivarr muttered irritably, ‘I wish you two would just get on with it.’

After closing, Eivor helped out in the kitchen. Ubba was making good on the promise he’d made to Ivarr the day before, so his brother had gone upstairs to watch a movie with Ceolbert, while Ubba finished the dishes and cleaned up the kitchen.  
The use of the upstairs rooms had made Eivor raise his eyebrows. He said to Ubba when the two had gone, ‘The last time I looked into those rooms, they were grim.’  
Ubba gave a wry smile. ‘You haven’t seen Linda’s place, or you might not think so. Ivarr tidied one up, anyway - or so he says.’  
Ubba was at the sink washing the pots and pans, so Eivor took it upon himself to put the last of the plates and glasses through the dishwasher. For a time they worked in companionable silence, back to back. After a moment, Eivor noticed that Ubba was humming under his breath, and after another moment, he recognised the song - a love song for a couple of decades earlier which had been playing on the jukebox earlier. He smiled to himself.  
They had just finished up, tea towels hung over the oven handle, when there was a rumble of thunder in the distance.  
‘I thought there was electricity in the air,’ Ubba said absently, smiling to himself, leaving Eivor to wonder if he meant it as a terrible joke. ‘Beer?’  
‘Is the pope Catholic?’ Eivor said with a grin, but then added, ‘You really need to get some ventilation in this kitchen. It’s roasting in here.’  
Ubba held the door, and as Eivor passed through, he replied, ‘Fans are on the list - but the list is long.’

They emerged out into the backyard, if it could be called that. There was the loud whir of cicadas, and the air was heavy with the electricity of the coming storm.  
‘Help me drag this thing under cover,’ Ubba said, taking one end of the table. Eivor took the other, and they put it under the veranda, then stacked the chairs but two for themselves in the corner.  
They sat, side by side. Ubba slipped an arm around Eivor’s shoulders, and they both sighed, as though they had both been holding their breath, waiting for this moment.  
‘You aren’t going to torment me like that every day, are you?’ Eivor asked softly, looking up at the handsome face above him, rather hoping he would.  
Ubba was looking up at the sky as a fork of lightning lit up his face. He said quietly, ‘I make no promises I can’t keep.’ He looked at Eivor then, grinning. ‘It’s far too fun seeing you get flustered.’  
‘Me?’ Eivor said, smilingly. ‘I’m not the one that brought a rack of clean glasses to get washed thinking they were dirty.’  
Ubba allowed that to pass, smiling gently. In a quiet voice, he asked, ‘How is it that you aren’t taken?’  
Eivor ran a hand through his hair as he said, ‘I had someone, back in Perth, before I got the job here. They ditched me when I told them I was moving, said they couldn’t deal with me being away all the time. I think the relationship was over long before that, though. Since then...’ He shrugged. ‘I’ve never been into that whole easy come, easy go thing, and that seems to be what most people expect out here.’ He tilted his head a little then and asked, ‘And you?’  
‘I got burnt,’ he said. ‘I cared more than she did.’ He smiled as he added, ‘I don’t mind. I like that I’ve ended up here. With you.’  
Eivor smiled, and kissed him then; the wanting, which had been increasing all night, had spilt over at last.  
There was a perceptible sound then from the power lines nearby, a popping sound, and the lights went out - the lights of the pub, the neighbouring houses and the street lights.  
In the darkness, Ubba mumbled with heat in his voice, ‘God damn it, Eivor.’  
He chuckled a little breathlessly; but when he spoke, he was pragmatic. ‘Power cut. Have you got any candles?’  
‘I have no idea,’ he said, sounding slightly puzzled by the question. ‘Do we need them? It’ll be back on soon, won’t it?’  
‘Maybe in a day or two.’  
There was a moment of silence. ‘A day or two? You’re joking?’  
‘No. That’s how long it takes sometimes.’  
He sighed, mumbled something about living in the dark ages, then said, ‘I guess we better go try and find some form of lighting then.’  
Using their phones for light, Ubba led Eivor inside.  
They’d reached the hallway between the kitchen and office and on into the ladies lounge when, from upstairs, Ivarr called out, ‘Do we have a lamp or something, Ubba?’  
‘Have you seen one?’ he called back, rolling his eyes.  
‘Not up here.’ He sounded irritated at the question.  
‘Really fuckin’ helpful,’ Ubba muttered, before calling back, ‘Then I don’t think so. We’ll look down here.’  
He then went into the office to search there, while Eivor went to look in the kitchen.

Eivor was standing on a chair, poking around in one of the high cupboards, when the shaky light of a candle lit up the kitchen. He turned and found Ubba holding a small stub of candle in one hand. He had a deeply unimpressed look on his face.  
Eivor grinned down at him. ‘You found one.’  
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘One. Amongst three empty boxes.’  
‘Oh,’ Eivor said, closing the cupboards he’d been looking through, and stepping down off the chair. ‘I have some at home I can get for you.’  
‘Thanks,’ he said, still looking disgruntled, until Eivor came over and put his arms around his waist.  
He looked up at him, and said, ‘I’ll go now, before the rain comes.’  
Ubba’s bad mood shifted a little, and he kissed him, saying less grumpily, ‘Alright. Hurry back.’

Eivor got drenched on the way back with the candles, and as he entered the private quarters he was conscious that he was leaving wet footprints across the ugly carpet. He hadn’t been into that part of the hotel yet, so he opened the door, feeling tentative.  
‘We’re down the hall,’ Ubba called to him.  
His wet trainers squelched as he walked down a long hallway. After he had passed a stairwell which led to the upstairs rooms, the hallway was lined with doors. Some stood open, through one he caught a glimpse of a small kitchen. At the end of the hall was a loungeroom with beaten looking couches in it, on which Ubba, Ivarr and Ceolbert sat huddled around the swiftly disappearing candle.  
They were all looking up at him expectantly. He grinned, and held out the box as if making an offering to angry gods.  
‘Thank fuck for that,’ Ivarr said, jumping up to take a couple of the candles.  
‘Our company not good enough for you?’ Eivor asked jokingly.  
Ivarr leveled a look at him. ‘If I had to watch you two touching each other all night, I’d vomit.’  
Eivor laughed as Ivarr and Ceolbert took their candles and went back upstairs.  
Ubba stood, saying, ‘You’re soaking wet. I’ll grab you a towel. Come with me.’

Eivor followed him back out into the hallway and into one of the doors he’d passed. He knew that this was Ubba’s bedroom; it smelt of him, a kind of musky scent mixed with his aftershave. In the irregular light of the candle, he could see that it was austere, spartan even - only a bed, bedside table where Ubba set the candle, and a set of drawers on the opposite wall which he began searching through. Eivor looked around curiously. It was neat and tidy, the large bed made and an air of order and organisation to it that he appreciated.  
His appraisal was interrupted by a towel hitting him on the shoulder. He caught it, and dried his face and hair. When he lowered the towel again, Ubba had come close, holding a dry T-shirt out for him to put on. Eivor took a hold of it with one hand as their eyes met, but instead of releasing the shirt, Ubba gave it a light tug, and Eivor, still holding it, moved closer, his pulse racing.

The kiss was tender at first, exploratory, ineffably sweet, but it did not remain so as Ubba felt Eivor’s tongue flick across his own, as his blood roared in his ears. He knew he had been pushing his own limits when he’d brought Eivor into the bedroom, but… he had told himself he would be able to restrain himself.  
He had been wrong. He broke from the kiss, and caught the hem of Eivor’s wet T-shirt with one finger. Eivor met his eye and allowed him to pull it up and over his head. Ubba told himself he did this with the intention of replacing it immediately with the dry one he still held, but he found himself almost breathlessly running a thumb along Eivor’s collarbone instead, watching his skin prickling beneath his touch, his nipples hardening. The chemistry was breathtaking, and he dropped the dry T-shirt alongside the wet one, forgotten. He trailed the gentle fingertips of his freed hand down over Eivor’s ribs, until reaching his hip, he pulled him close against himself as he kissed him on the lips again. He was aching with want as his kisses wandered, seeking and finding the tender places along the length of his neck, settling at last where his neck joined his shoulder. He breathed deeply, senses filled with Eivor: his scent, the feeling of his skin beneath his hands, the small sounds he made in response to Ubba’s touch. 

Eivor tilted his head back, moaning deep in his throat as Ubba’s beard tickled at his nape, the brush of the coarse hairs sending goosebumps across his skin. He grasped Ubba’s biceps with a kind of passionate desperation. As he did so, Ubba nudged him gently backwards, until he felt his calves bump against the bed.  
He asked huskily, his breathing ragged, ‘Are you sure, Ubba? You said…’  
Ubba raised his head to look into his eyes, his gaze as hot as molten iron. He caressed the side of Eivor’s face, shushing him with a heated kiss before he said in a voice thick with need, ‘I know what I want, and a few days will not change it.’  
‘Oh, thank fuck for that,’ Eivor murmured with such relief in his voice that Ubba chuckled. 

Ubba watched as Eivor kicked off his pants, revealing the faultless lines: his strong thighs, his narrow hips and perfect arse. He swallowed heavily as he moved onto the bed, glancing back at Ubba almost shyly.  
Ubba felt the look like a warm, teasing hand on his groin. He swiftly added his own clothes to the untidy pile at his feet, his eyes not leaving Eivor for more than a second, before he joined him on the bed. He knelt beside him for a moment; without touching, he allowed his eyes to sweep slowly down, tracing the lines of Eivor’s body in the warm light, then back up again. Ubba felt the unevenness of his own breathing, the desire that coursed through himself like fire, the way his heart beat fast, anticipating what came next.  
The moment was beautiful. Eivor was beautiful.  
Then their eyes met again, and there was no more waiting, no more hesitancy; only the white hot consummation of their desire, which could no longer be curbed.

After midnight, as the candle burnt low, Eivor was laying atop Ubba, who had his eyes closed, a beatific smile lingering on his lips.  
Eivor kissed his way along his collar bones, then trailed his lips down across his chest to his nipple, which he teased between his lips.  
Ubba moaned, as he caressed the back of Eivor’s head with his large, rough skinned hand. ‘You’re insatiable,’ he mumbled sleepily.  
Eivor paused, glancing up with a cheeky expression, and found Ubba regarding him with half lidded eyes, the smile still lingering.  
‘You can talk,’ Eivor said.  
Ubba’s smile tilted up at one corner as he said warmly, ‘Come here.’  
Instead of obeying, Eivor sat up, and swung his feet onto the ground. ‘I’m parched,’ he said, a teasing glance back over his shoulder. ‘I’ll go get us a drink.’  
Ubba eyed him as he moved towards the door, feeling his desire rising up afresh. He said thickly, ‘Better put a shirt on.’  
‘Why?’ Eivor asked, pausing by the door. ‘Ivarr’s sleeping upstairs, isn’t he?’  
Ubba raised an eyebrow. ‘He doesn’t sleep much. Better to be cautious.’  
‘Alright.’ He reached down to retrieve the T-shirt Ubba had offered earlier, and pulled it over his head. Looking down at it, he quirked an eyebrow. ‘I feel like I’m wearing a dress.’  
Ubba chuckled, but his eyes shone as he said, ‘Hurry up and get that drink so I can take that shirt off you again.’  
Eivor grinned and went out the door, leaving it slightly ajar behind him.  
A moment later, outside the door, Ubba heard Ivarr’s muttering as he passed along the hallway from the direction of the kitchen, and Eivor saying sweetly, ‘Goodnight Ivarr.’  
Then Eivor came in the door, grinning as Ivarr swore at him in reply as he went up the stairs.  
Ubba had propped his head up on an elbow as he said, ‘He was in the kitchen I suppose, sitting in the dark?’  
‘He was. Drinking coffee. He’s definitely salty.’  
‘Oh?’  
Eivor was smiling to himself as he handed Ubba a glass of water and set his own on the bedside next to the candle. ‘He says the walls are thin as paper.’  
Ubba gave a mischievous smile. ‘And I was trying to be quiet.’ He pulled Eivor down beside him, and began pushing the T-shirt up, kissing him gently across his stomach and up his chest. In between kisses, he said, ‘But seeing as he’s going to complain anyway, I guess we should give him something to really complain about.’


	6. The Flood

Eivor woke in the night to the sound of the rain thundering on the veranda that ran along the front of the Hotel, just outside the windows of Ubba’s room. The candle had gone out, but a watery light was coming through the glass, suggesting that morning had arrived.  
The room was stifling with heat, and he stood up on the bed to reach one of the two sash windows, and in the semi-dark attempted to open one to let in some air.  
‘They’re nailed shut,’ Ubba mumbled sleepily from below. He was sleeping face down, one arm dangling onto the floor beside the bedside cupboard.  
Eivor frowned. ‘They’ve got bars over them on the outside, don’t they?’  
‘Mmhm,’ he replied. ‘Ragnar was obsessive about security apparently.’ He raised his head, and with the arm that was already there, he opened the bottom drawer of the bedside and took out a claw hammer. He offered it to Eivor, saying, ‘You’re welcome to attempt un-nailing it.’  
Eivor looked at the hammer for a moment before he took it with raised eyebrows. ‘Why…’ But when Ubba only chuckled sleepily, he changed his mind, and said, ‘Never mind.’  
He bent to his task, levering away at the nails. After much swearing and cursing, he got ten of them out, each extracted with a screech to set your teeth on edge. He made a satisfied sound as the last came out and he set the hammer down on the bed.  
He set his shoulder to the bottom of the sash and tried to push it upwards. Nothing happened.  
Ubba chuckled again and said, ‘It’s probably painted closed.’  
Eivor muttered something rude about him, bringing on another chuckle as Ubba reached into the bottom drawer again, this time offering Eivor a large, flat-headed screwdriver. ‘Use this to break the seal. That should do it.’  
Eivor eyed him in the dim light as he took the offered tool. ‘Something tells me you’ve done this before...’  
Ubba had flipped over onto his back by then, and broke into a grin. ‘Yeah – I did the other window.’  
‘What do you mean!’ Eivor exclaimed. He stepped over Ubba, onto the floor on his side of the bed, and opened the window with one easy push. He glared down at him. ‘Why didn’t you say so?’  
Ubba was laughing properly by then, and said, ‘You’ve saved me half a job.’  
Eivor narrowed his eyes, a smile creeping into his face. ‘You bastard…’  
Whatever else he was intending to say was lost as a loud pounding noise reached them from the direction of the loungeroom.  
Ubba hastily got up, frowning as he pulled on a pair of shorts before going to investigate.

As he stepped into the hallway, the pounding came again, and Ubba identified its source as the back door, which opened at one end of the loungeroom onto a driveway or sorts that linked the main road to the alleyway at the back.  
He opened the door, ready to tell whoever it was to bugger off, but before he could say a word, he was met by a cheerful, ‘Good morning!’ which brought him up short.  
It was a man who was about sixty years old, wearing heavily oil-stained overalls in a faded blue which were of course totally saturated, and he had a beard that would have made a viking blush. Despite the pouring rain, the man outside wasn’t wearing any kind of wet weather gear, seemingly oblivious to the rain streaming down his face and dripping off his nose.  
‘You must be the son of Ragnar,’ he boomed, holding out a hand, which Ubba took, and was immediately caught in a very vigorous handshake. ‘I’m Macca. I run the Ag Repairs.’  
‘I’m Ubba.’  
‘I’ve brought the gennie for you. I’d forgotten that Ragnar had left her with me, God rest him, until the power went out last night, and then I cursed myself for the forgetful bastard I am.’  
‘Jenny?’ Ubba asked in confusion.  
‘Yes, gennie.’ Macca said, not noticing his confusion. ‘I’ll put her out in the power shed, if you’ve got the key.’  
‘OK,’ Ubba said, still looking mystified as he took down the bunch of keys from the cupboard by the door. There were still many that they had not identified the use of yet.  
He followed Macca out to the back laneway, the rain splatting coldly on his skin, refreshing after the stuffiness inside the hotel. The mechanic led him to the spot where he’d parked his old ute in the back laneway, and pointed at a door which Ubba hadn’t noticed before.  
Looking at it, Ubba was dubious whether he’d be able to open it, with its half-rusted lock. The previous days had taught him more than he thought he’d ever know about keys and the hazards of trying to force a seized lock; but he tried anyway. After much trying of keys, he found the right one; followed by much wiggling and jiggling and application of WD40. At last, he swung the door open.  
What was revealed wasn’t so much a room as a kind of small shanty that had been added to the end of the building. Ubba stepped in, squinting in the poor light. It was the size of a small built in wardrobe, and it enclosed the electrical meter box and a small wooden pedestal beside it. Above the pedestal, a large industrial power point was set into the wall. Ubba assumed this was related to whatever the hell Jenny was. He felt heavy drips of water on his head, and looking up, he saw that the roof – a few scrappy sheets of corrugated iron – were rusted out in many places. This would explain why he was now standing in ankle deep mud.  
When he stepped out of the room, Macca had folded the side gate of the ute tray down, and was manouevering the gennie to the edge of the tray - and it was only than that Ubba connected the word Jenny to a generator; a small motor that generated power which could be used as a backup source at times like these, when the mains power failed.  
He helped Macca lift the motor down, and they placed it onto the wooden plinth, which kept it just out of the mud.  
‘This doesn’t seem safe,’ Ubba remarked, gesturing at the mud.  
‘It’ll be fine,’ Macca said dismissively. ‘It’s been like this for years.’  
Ubba made a mental note to add the leaking roof to the list of things to be repaired, but then turned his attention to Macca as he explained how to get the gennie started, how often to refuel it, and so on.  
As he had stepped into his ute, he said out the window, ‘I hope you’re set for a long haul.’  
‘What do you mean?’  
‘You’ve not heard?’ Macca asked. ‘The roads are washed out. Flood. There won’t be anyone coming in or out for a bit.’  
‘How long is a bit?’ Ubba asked.  
Macca scratched his chin, and said, ‘Last time we had a flood, back in ‘89, it took a few days. They’ll get the highway sorted out first, of course, as soon as the rain stops.’  
They both looked up for a moment at the clouds which showed no signs of dispersing. Ubba said, ‘Doesn’t look hopeful.’  
‘Nope,’ Macca said cheerfully, gunning the engine. ‘Merry Christmas!’

Eivor was in the kitchen making coffee by boiling water in a pot on the gas burner, a smile playing on his lips as he stared out the window at the back yard.  
Ivarr came into the room and looked at Eivor with an arched brow and asked, ‘Where’s Ubba?’  
‘Didn’t you hear the knocking?’  
He scowled. ‘I had ear plugs in,’ he said resentfully.  
Eivor grinned, but he said, ‘Someone came to the door and Ubba went out with him. I think it was Macca.’  
‘Who’s that?’  
‘Works at the Ag Repairs. Good bloke. Looks kinda like Santa - the Australian version.’  
Ivarr was about to ask what he could possibly want with Ubba when the lights flicked on; so instead he said, ‘Well, that’s something.’  
Ceolbert came into the kitchen then, and began making a sandwich. He had just got out of bed, his clothing rumpled, his hair sticking out at all angles.  
‘How did you sleep?’ Ivarr asked him.  
Ceolbert glanced at Eivor, then at Ivarr with a grin. ‘Not so well as I might have.’  
Ivarr frowned at Eivor, who looked a little sheepish but was saved from answering as Ubba came in from outside, slamming the door behind him.  
He was dripping with rain, his hair plastered to the side of his face, his feet trailing red mud across the kitchen floor. As he came into the room, Eivor felt his heart skip a beat at how damn handsome he was – his memory flooded with images of the night before. He turned against the cabinetry to hide his bodies response to his memories.  
As Ubba went to stand beside Eivor, ostensibly to help with the coffee, but really just to slip a hand around his waist and kiss the top of his head, he said, ‘That man is a clanker.’  
Ivarr didn’t ask what a clanker meant, but asked, ‘What did he want?’  
‘He came from the Ag Repairs. He’s repaired the generator which Dad left with him who knows when. We got it going.’  
‘So the power’s not back on?’  
Ubba shook his head. ‘That’s the gennie. Sounds like the mains’ll be out for a while. He reckons the roads are washed out, no one is coming in or out, not even to fix the power.’  
Ivarr stared at him for a moment, before asking acidly, ‘You’re telling me, we’re in a virtual desert, mid-summer, and there’s a fuckin flood?’  
Ubba grinned, ‘Yep. First flood since ‘89. He said we should try not to use the power except to keep the fridges running.’  
Ivarr snarled, ‘Merry fuckin’ Christmas! Stuck here with you two grinning at one another like the self-satisfied mugs you are.’  
Ubba snorted with laughter. ‘What have we done wrong?’  
‘You know - and with my boy asleep upstairs!’  
Ubba shook his head, still grinning unapologetically. ‘Ceolbert is fine. He’s probably seen more than you have, living at Linda’s.’  
‘He’s right, Dad.’ Ceolbert interjected mildly.  
‘That’s not the point,’ he said savagely, looking daggers at Ubba.  
His brother held up his hand - the one that wasn’t slipped inside Eivor’s shirt and rubbing his back suggestively - and said with mock solemnity, ‘I’m sorry, Ivarr. I’ll never do it again.’  
Ivarr snapped, ‘You’re a liar, Ubba, and we all know it.’  
Ubba made no further comment - though Ivarr noted the hand did not reappear - and said, ‘What are we going to do about the pub in the meantime?’  
Ivarr was not ready to let go of his grievances yet, but by the same token, it was a reasonable question, and so he snarled, ‘We’ll have to keep it closed. Who’s going to come for beers in the middle of a fuckin’ flood?’  
Ubba held up his hands - both of them, for Ivarr’s benefit - and said, ‘Alright! I’ll do up some signs.’  
Ivarr nodded and stalked from the room.  
Ceolbert, who had finished making his sandwich and was sitting at the table eating it, having watched the conversation like a person watches a tennis match, observed, ‘I think he’s really pissed off this time, Uncle Ubba.’  
Ubba grinned. ‘What’s new?’  
Ceolbert smiled back. ‘I was thinking it’s a nice turn up for the books.’ Then he hastily added, ‘But don’t tell him I said so.’  
Ubba ruffled his hair as he and Eivor passed, on their way back to bed. ‘I wouldn’t dream of it.’


	7. Plans

That night, in the darkness of Ubba’s room, they both lay awake. They’d been quiet for a long while, both hoping to sleep, but it was simply too hot, even with both windows open.  
Eivor suddenly said, ‘I think the rain’s stopped.’  
They lay listening for a moment before Ubba confirmed, ‘Sounds like it.’  
Eivor was laying with his hands behind his head looking up into the darkness as he asked, ‘Tell me something about yourself I don’t already know.’  
Eivor heard Ubba turn his head in the darkness. He said comfortably, ‘What do you want to know?’  
‘You’ve told me about your family, your work – but what do you like to do when you’re not working?’  
‘I used to play basketball with a group of mates once a week; or pretty much any sport really.’ He sighed, ‘I’m going to miss that.’  
‘They do sports here – it might be the middle of nowhere, but it’s still Australia.’  
He shrugged. ‘I don’t think I’ll have time.’  
‘You’ll just have to become like your Dad then.’ He gave a teasing jab at the non-existent paunch, and said, ‘Beer belly.’  
Ubba snorted. ‘Not a chance. I have my gym set up in the next room.’ He paused before asking, ‘You?’  
‘Well, sport wise, I swim every day. The pool’s at the high school, just up the road a bit. I have a deal with the caretaker. I have a key so I can swim before work.’ He paused a moment. ‘I miss the ocean. I used to swim Cottesloe every morning. Feels like another life now.’  
Ubba said quietly, ‘That’s because it was.’  
‘Yeah.’  
They were quiet for a long moment, before Eivor said tentatively, ‘There’s something else.’  
Ubba felt his heart wildly flutter. ‘Oh?’  
‘I also like to write poetry.’  
Ubba said relief in his voice, ‘I thought it was going to be something awful.’  
‘Well,’ Eivor said wryly, ‘Most people think it’s lame.’  
‘Not at all,’ he said warmly. ‘Music is poetry. The best songs have beautiful words or they aren’t the best songs. I always wished I was musical – always wanted to learn the guitar, but there was never time or the money to do it when I was a kid, and once I was working it seemed stupid. I had my first job when I was fourteen. Someone had to help Mum out with all us kids.’  
‘You never finished school?’  
‘No. I was big enough to pass as eighteen by the time I was fourteen. Got a fake ID from Ivarr and started working in the clubs. Did that for ten years.’ He shook his head. ‘I don’t regret anything about my life, except that I never did much with my brain....’ he trailed off, and said, ‘Sorry. I’m rambling.’  
Eivor had moved closer as he spoke, and kissed his shoulder in reassurance. ‘You don’t have to apologise. I’m listening. Anyway, it’s never too late to learn. Sigurd plays the guitar and could give you lessons. You’d be doing us all a favour actually, giving him an excuse to play. He complains a lot.’  
Ubba said shyly, ‘I might sound him out the next time he’s in.’  
Jokingly, Eivor said, ‘If he says no, let me know. I’ll twist his arm - or Randvi will.’  
Ubba chuckled. ‘Alright.’ More soberly, he added, ‘You and he are pretty close.’  
‘Yeah. He’s the closest thing to family I have.’  
That gave Ubba pause. He asked softly, ‘You don’t have any other family?’  
He said matter-of-factly, ‘No. My parents died when I was in primary school – car accident. My grandmother raised me, but she died a couple of years before I left the city. There’s only a few distant cousins over east that I haven’t seen since I was a kid. It’s just me now.’  
‘Shit,’ Ubba murmured. ‘I’m sorry. What do you usually do for Christmas then?’  
He said dryly, ‘I’m usually working. This’ll be the first Christmas I have off since I moved here. Sigurd and Randvi always spend Christmas in town so I usually go for dinner at theirs on Christmas Eve.’ He smiled, before adding, ‘It’s nice - though it can get colourful.’  
‘How so?’  
‘Sigurd and his Dad, Styrnbjorn, have a difficult relationship. The last couple of years, he’s come down from the city to spend Christmas here; but you see, when Sigurd was younger, his Dad gambled away his inheritance – a house in the city and a bunch of money that had been promised to Sigurd by his mother. The parents were separated, though not divorced, when she died and she didn’t have a will. Everyone knew it was meant for Sigurd though. Styrnbjorn just decided not to honour her wishes, and lost it on the dogs. Sigurd refused to see or communicate with him for years, and even now, he hasn’t forgiven him. He tries to put it aside at Christmas… but Styrnbjorn drinks like a fish, so it usually turns into a hot mess.’ He was quiet for a moment, then wryly, he added, ‘Last year, sausages were burnt and flung in faces.’  
Ubba grimaced. ‘Sounds interesting – different from a Ragnarsson Christmas.’  
‘Tell me?’  
‘There’s about fifty people there, everyone talking over each other, kids running around screaming everywhere. It’s chaos.’ He sighed. ‘It’ll be strange to miss Chrissy Day with the family, but Ivarr and I have agreed we aren’t going this year. Ivarr was forceful – said it was either both of us or neither of us. It’s stupid because I have to go to the city anyway, sometime before New Year - there’s paperwork that needs signing with the solicitor - but Ivarr was hardcore about it.’  
‘Knives were mentioned, I suppose?’ Eivor said jokingly.  
Ubba chuckled. ‘They were.’ Then, tentatively, he asked, ‘I’ve had a thought; tell me if this is too much – I was just thinking that since you aren’t working after Christmas, perhaps you could come with me? The company will be good – it’s such a long drive...’  
Eivor smiled. ‘A road trip sounds good. I haven’t been to Perth for years.’  
Ubba grinned and kissed him. ‘Then it’s a date.’ 

The power came back on in the early hours of the morning, waking Eivor as the fan beside the bed whirred to life. There was the faintest glimmer of light in the sky, and he decided that he should slip home before the heat and humidity hit – which it inevitably would, as soon as the sun showed its face above the horizon. He was back to work the following day, and there were many small tasks he had neglected that week. He smiled, looking over at Ubba as he dressed. Such a distraction. Even now, he had to stop himself climbing back into bed.  
Once he was dressed, he leant down to kiss Ubba goodbye on the forehead, thinking he was asleep. Eivor was startled when Ubba’s eyes opened, just visible in the dim light. He grinned devilishly, and in one swift motion, pulled Eivor down onto the bed again.  
Eivor gasped in startlement, and then chuckled as Ubba rolled over so that Eivor was pinned under his weight. Propped up on his elbows, the big man kissed him gently.  
‘What is this?’ he demanded playfully, his hand gently running up, under the soft fabric of Eivor’s T-shirt to one of his peaked nipples, which he rubbed with the pad of one thumb. ‘You’re dressed.’  
Eivor was breathing raggedly as he said breathlessly, ‘I know. I regret it already.’  
Ubba chuckled, looking down at Eivor, his green eyes sparkling with amusement in the growing daylight. ‘I suppose I should let you go.’  
‘You could do that,’ Eivor said with some regret, as his own hands wandered. ‘Or we could forget I ever thought about going home...’  
Ubba laughed outright then, releasing Eivor by rolling to one side. ‘We both have things that need doing.’  
Eivor closed his eyes, getting a grip on his galloping desire, and grinned. ‘I’d almost forgotten how much of a tease you can be.’  
Ubba had stood, and was looking through the drawers for fresh clothing; when he turned back, Eivor saw he too was grinning. ‘Don’t pretend you don’t enjoy it.’  
Eivor sat up and shook his head wryly. ‘I make no comment. Anything I say will only encourage you.’  
Ubba only laughed, coming to kiss him once more, before seeing him out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author note:  
> I had a thought: I introduced a flood into this story and I realised I should explain the situation with floods in country WA for those who don't know about them, because otherwise it seems really odd that I haven't said more about it.  
> So, they're not floods as you might imagine - with water deep enough to drown in, houses underwater, cars carried along etc. That happens here in places near rivers, for sure - but in the interior, the floods are really different.   
> The water follows ancient water courses which appear as salt lakes most of the time. They do collect water during winter, but most are pretty shallow. A big flood will fill these lakes and then create a relatively shallow flow of water. It will wash out roads, where the road is built across salt lakes; it may cause new lakes to appear in paddocks; and it will destroy crops and livestock. Most houses and towns are built away from salt lakes (they really smell) hence why there is limited damage usually.  
> So if everyone seems very chilled out during these events - that's why :)


End file.
